


Every Angle

by Edie_Sunshine



Series: Just Two Guys [11]
Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 03:16:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edie_Sunshine/pseuds/Edie_Sunshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Juice is playing roadie for Bobby's Fat Elvis Tour. Chibs gets stuck with the cat. The cat hates him.</p><p>Beta'd by Spacebabe</p><p>Title comes from an Ani Difranco track, lyrics in the notes</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Angle

Juice sits outside the crowded bar and nurses his beer, cell phone in the other hand, thumb quickly deleting the last three words he's typed and trying to think of something funny to say instead. He sucks at texting.

It's been three days. 

Three days of playing roadie for Bobby and his Fat Old Elvis act.

Three days of living town to shitty town, sharing a motel room, and hearing endless renditions of Suspicious Minds. 

At least tonight it's a real gig in a bar and not just another Bar Mitzvah. 

Juice grew up in a largely Jewish neighbourhood, can understand more Yiddish words than Spanish but he still can't shake that feeling of being an outsider.

Three days of no Chibs. No morning blow job, no midnight groping, no teasing and no filthy muttering in his ear.

#I fucking hate elvis# he finally types and hits 'send'.

&&&

Chibs steps through the sliding doors and into the bright cold of the supermarket, is assaulted by the sounds of piped Abba hits and screaming brats. 

Beer, bog roll, cigarettes. 

He joins the queue. 

Ahead of him, a woman with honey streaked hair and too much tan is flicking through a magazine while she stands in line. Okay tits, not a bad arse on her... Not much to look at but sometimes plain means grateful... 

She's got one of those metal baskets for all her purchases. 

Multipack of cat food. 

Fucking Christ!

He steps out of the queue, storms back up the aisle, cursing himself and that muppet Juicy. 

Comes back and finds he's not only lost his place in the queue for the checkout, the queue is also now three times as long as it was. 

Chibs is whipped. 

He's so whipped it's beyond funny and right back to tragic. 

&&&

Inside the bar, Bobby is hemming and hawing his way through a sound check. Juice lights another cigarette and waits for Chibs to get his text, reply to it. He's hoping that there'll be time to actually talk to the guy tonight. 

#cant talk buying food for your fucking cat#

Juice can't help laughing. 

It's not his cat, it's a stray he ran over a few months back and then couldn't just leave to fend for itself with a busted hip...

In fact, the fucking thing hates him. It spits and hisses at the sight of him. Arches it's back and fizzes its tail whenever he comes near. 

It's probably because he's the one that forced medicine down its throat twice a day; kept it in a rabbit hutch to stop it from putting weight on it's busted hip and put one of those collars on it so it wouldn't eat its own stitches.

Chibby's spent the last few months laughing his ass off, calling the stupid animal by various names- Lucifer, Freeloader, Cyclops- and reminding Juice of his offer to just off the thing.

'Shoulda got a dog, Juicy, least it'd be pleased to see you...'

Juice had spent ages talking the Scot into agreeing to feed the cat every day while he's been away since now it's decided it doesn't need to hunt for it's own food when it can just yell for it instead.

He pictures Chibby standing outside in the yard, beer in one hand, lips curled around a cigarette and rattling a box of Go-Cat. 

It's a pretty funny image.

#call u 2nite?# he sends back and receives an #ok# in reply. 

Good times!

&&&

Jesus, that cat's got a pair of lungs on it, the kind of sound that goes right through you- nails on a fucking blackboard. 

It's sitting on the rubbish bin, looking like the devil spawn it is: red tinged black fur, still scarred from mange, half an ear, one fang and an eye the colour of sick piss. 

Course, Juice couldn't rescue a nice looking cat, could he?

He's heard Juice trying to talk to it before. Shushing it and telling it it's gonna be okay, he's sorry, he doesn't wanna hurt it, it's for its own good, blah, blah, blah. The cat fucking hates him regardless. 

Chibs is not gonna waste time talking to something that won't talk back. 

He gets the cat biscuits out of the grocery bag and fishes the empty bowl out from its home under Juice's sink. 

Cat glares at him, maw wide open and caws like Chibs is some fucking mother hen come to feed its chick. 

It sticks its nose in the bowl before Chibs has even put it down and waves its arse in his face instead. Charming. 

At least the noise has stopped though. 

He lights a cigarette and sits on the step. Waits for the cat to finish so he can take the bowl away and wash it- one of those things that Juice is very particular about. 

It's boring, being the one stuck on double shifts at Teller Morrow and feeding the fucking cat. He's even been sleeping here, at Juice's, rather than go back to his own home.

And staying at Juice's is a pain in the arse. The kid likes his place clean, which means that in his absence, Chibs has to clean up after himself. 

The place is quiet without Juice's stupid computer games beeping and bleeping and the bed feels fucking huge with only himself in it. 

Chibs fucking hates the way wiping the toothpaste spatters out of the wash basin reminds him of Juicy doing the exact same thing.

The cat finishes eating its own body weight in little heart shaped, fish flavoured biscuits. Settles down to wash its face with its paws. 

'Right, done are yer?' He gets to his feet and takes the bowl away. The cat doesn't leave though, it just sits and gives him the one eyed death stare instead. 

Chibs stares back. He's not gonna be out-stared by a fucking cat. It opens it's mouth again, lets out a pitiful little chirrup. Surely it can't want feeding again?

'Fuck off, I just fed yer.' 

It does it again, 'Mahhhh.....' and this time it jumps down from its little throne, slinks over to where Chibs is sitting, rubs itself against his trouser leg.

'Mahhhhhhh...'

Jesus Christ. 

Chibs puts his cigarette back between his lips and reaches out one cautious hand, gives it a scratch behind its ear and the cat leans into his hand, stretches out to get Chibs fingers to exactly the right spot. 

Course the fucking thing is even acting like Juicy...

&&&

It's almost dark when Chibs finally steps back inside and locks the back door, leaves the cat to hunt, fight, get laid, whatever it does when it's not camped out on the sofa and licking its own arsehole. 

It'll work its way in through the open bathroom window when it's good and ready to come inside. 

Chibs is slumped in front of the TV set when his phone springs into life.

&&&

'Hey.' Chibs has his TV voice on. The one that means there's fuck all on but he's gotten hypnotised by the damned thing anyway. It means his eyes are heavy with tiredness and any minute now he's gonna toe his boots off and swing his legs around to lie stretched flat out on the couch. 

If Juice were there with him, he'd have been hauled over the back of the couch to land on Chibs, the older man groping him absently through his jeans.

But he's not there with Chibs. He's stuck in a motel room a billion miles away and the porn's pay-per-view and he's broke. 

'Elvis left the building?'

'Yeah, he's still doing his thing... Did you feed the cat?'

'Yes, your baby substitute's been fed an' burped.'

'Shut up, she's not my- Whatever, asshole. You okay?'

'Aye. You?'

'Yeah, just...'

'Any decent porn?'

'Nah, it's all pay-per-view and...'

'An if you watch Saving Ryan's Privates it'll show up on the bill an' you'll have to tell Bobby you like dick,' Chibs finishes for him.

'I like your dick,' Juice says and it feels kind of like an admission of something.

'Well, of course. It's a thing a beauty, after all... Is this a booty call?' 

Juice can hear Chibs leer loud and clear down the phone line. He feels a rush of heat and can't help grinning himself. 

'Maybe...'

'This where you ask me what I'm wearing?'

'No need. I can tell by your voice: Jeans and a wife-beater. Your shirt's all crumpled up on the back of the couch and you've taken your boots off.' 

Chibs chuckles. 'Ohh, you think? Maybe I'm not. Maybe I've slipped into something more comfortable...'

'What, like a negligee and crotchless panties?' Juice shudders and laughs at the same time.

'Hey, whatever floats your boat, you big poof...'

Juice has a picture of Chibs in his wallet. No one else knows, not even the man himself.

It's an innocent enough picture, the two of them goofing around outside Teller Morrow. Chibs has Juice in a half assed head lock and they're grinning at each other like a couple of loons. 

It was up on the noticeboard for a while, along with countless other pictures of all of the Sons in various states of inebriation. 

Juice snuck it down when no one was around and tucked it into his wallet. 

Now, he takes his wallet off the side, thumbs it open and finds the picture.

He thinks about the morning he left, Chibs waking him with his lips wrapped around Juice's cock, teasing him to orgasm so slowly that Juice thought he was gonna explode with it. 

He props the picture on the side where he can see it and listens to the Scot's voice, soft and intimate down the telephone line. 

He's hard already and all they've done is kid around. He palms his cock through his jeans and even though he's pretty sure he hasn't made a sound, Chibs chuckles down the line.

'Oh really?'

'Yeah, well, you know, got the room to myself so...' 

Juice unzips his pants, slides his hand inside and down to his balls. This time he doesn't try to hide his sigh.

'Keep talking,' he says and he hears Chibs smirk.

'Tell me what you're doing to yourself, Juicy,' Chibs says and Juice groans.

'I- I'm just...'

'You know, I spent most of the day thinking about what I'm gonna do to you when I get you back here,' Chibs says, quiet as anything. 'Bend you over the table and eat you out till you're all sloppy... Get my tongue in there, make you beg.'

'Jesus, Chibbie...' Juice curls up in the bed. His hand on his own dick isn't enough, not when Chibs is talking like that.

'I bet you're wishing you'd got the lube out your washbag right now, aren't you?' 

Guy's a bastard. Juice moans around the fingers he shoves into his own mouth and then he brushes one around the pucker of his ass. 

'You teasin' yourself already? Imagining it's my tongue in there.' 

Juice can't help the whimper he lets loose, wants Chibs there with him, holding him down and splitting him open. 

He gets his knees under him, one hand reaching awkwardly so he can bury his fingers, the other barely holding himself up, no hand to spare for his poor, neglected cock.

He finds that spot inside him and presses against it, can't help the unmanly whimper he lets loose.

&&&

Chibs hears Juice shifting around, knows that by now the kid'll be red in the face, biting his lip, eyes shut to slits. 

He slides his own hand into his jeans, feels his cock hardening and gives the head a little squeeze. 

He thinks about the other day, coming to bed after another long, sleepless night, to find Juice in a delicious sprawl across the mattress, the sheets kicked off. 

He remembers waking him for a morning blowie and feeling the moment the younger man realised he wasn't dreaming, woke up properly, writhing and shaking.

He'd rolled them both so that he could lie on his back, Juice on top. Lost himself in his own little Juicy World, surrounded on all sides by the heat and the taste and the scent of him. 

He'd held the younger man's hips tight as he worked his cock and Juice had gasped, sobbed into the pillow as he came.

He slides his hand down to the base of his cock, pictures Juice panting and desperate. 

'Come on sweetheart,' he whispers. 'Let me hear you.' 

'Chibbie, I can't, I need to-'

'You must be such a sight right now... All sweaty and panting. What if Bobby walked in, eh? What'd you do then? Him walkin' in an seein' you with yer jeans round your knees and your fingers in your arse. Begging for it...'

Juice murmurs something and then his breath starts to hitch and Chibs knows he's close, knows that his lips are forming silent words, completely mindless, as he humps the bed. 

He's not far off himself, balls pulling up tight against his body. 

Juice cries out, a long, ragged moan that he almost manages to bury in the pillow but not quite and then Chibs is following him, gasping and groaning. 

'You shit,' Juice says when he finally comes back to himself. 'Bobby? Ugh...'

'What, you got off thinkin' about Bobby an' that's my fault? You are one sick boy.'

Chibs hears Juice's snort of derision and knows that he's curling up on one side, flicking the cell phone back to hand-held again so he can lie with his ear resting on it, pull the blankets up around his neck. 

Chibs swipes spunk off his belly and wipes it on his vest, knows that Juice will have been better prepared and have tissues ready next to him. 

'Hey,' he says as he hears Juice trying to stifle a yawn. 'Hang up the phone an' go get some shut-eye.'

'No, I'm okay...' 

Kid sounds sleepy as anything. If the two of them were together right now, they'd be curled around each other like Babes in the fuckin' Wood, enjoying the afterglow. 

Sat here with Juice all sleepy at the other end of a phone line is a poor substitute but it's better than nothing. 

'How many more gigs has Elvis got lined up then?' he asks, more as a way of keeping Juicy with him than anything.

'Um... Four, I think, maybe five... Is my cat okay?'

'Ohhh... so now she's your cat, eh? You'll be giving it a name next...' 

It's hilarious that Juice has paid exorbitant amounts on vet bills and cat food and that he worries about making sure the little four legged shit comes in at night but he hasn't thought to name it.

'Don't need to.' Juice's voice has that lovely, drowsy softness to it, like he's almost asleep. 'You already named her,' 

'Wha? Yer callin it Cyclops?' 

'Well, she has only got one eye...'

'Yeah, talk about Coyote fuckin' Ugly...' Chibs casts around for a cigarette.

'Got one a those for me, Chibbie?' 

'Sure, want me to light it for yer?'

'Nah... keep it for me, I'll have it when I see you.' 

Chibs can't help smiling, tucks the second cigarette behind his ear. 

He hears a weird chirruping sound and then the cat ambles in, leaps up onto the sofa and makes itself at home on the arm, glaring at Chibs and his state of undress

'Oh, ay up, speak of the devil...'

'Yeah? What's she doing?'

'Just starin'....' 

Chibs eyes the creature warily, thinks maybe he should zip his pants up before it starts thinking it's found a mouse to hunt... 

Down the phone line, Juice starts giggling to himself. He's probably had the same thought.

'Not a word, Juicy,' he says but the kid's already speechless with it, trying to rein himself in and failing. 

Then he hears a thud and a muttered 'oh shit'. 

'Bobby home, then?'

'Yeah, I gotta go... Uh... Can I call tomorrow?'

'Aye, lad. I'll talk to you then.' 

He stays where he's sat, listening to the dial tone and feeling like he's been wrenched away. 

Completely fucking whipped...

&&&

Juice makes sure the bedclothes are tucked in around himself, shoves his photo of Chibs back in his wallet as Bobby stumbles in, pauses and sniffs.

'You jack off in here again?' 

There's no point trying to look innocent so Juice just settles for a shrug and a grin and Bobby's eye settles on the cell phone. 

'Phone sex? I hope that ain't the pre pay you're using...'

'No, it's mine.'

Bobby settles on his side of the bed and groans as he tugs his boots off, wriggles his toes. The guy stinks of old sweat and cheese.

'Who you callin' for phone sex anyway?'

'No one.' Bobby turns to give him a look and Juice amends to '...you know- No body you know.' 

Bobby just shakes his head, takes himself off for a shower and Juice slaps himself around the head for being an idiot.

'Oh,' Bobby sticks his head back out the door of the bathroom. 'I got stiffed on those last couple of gigs so tomorrow's the last one.' 

Juice manages to school his features until the other man has left the room, then he punches the air, grabs his cellphone and for once, knows straight away what to say:

#home 2morro. Cu nite?#

&&&

Settling in for the night with the final cigarette, Chibs hears his cell phone trill. Feels a little of the loneliness lift from his shoulders. He glances down at his companion, lying curled up beside him.

'Hey, don't get comfortable. Come tomorrow, that side of the bed's gonna be taken.' 

The brunette stares back, unimpressed. Carries on with washing her paws, purr loud in the quiet of the room. 

'An' don't you fucking shed on these sheets!'

**Author's Note:**

> Every Angle by Ani Difranco
> 
> i'm imagining your frame  
> every angle  
> and every plane  
> i'm imagining your smell  
> the one that mingled with mine  
> once upon a time  
> thoughts of you  
> are picketing my brain  
> they refuse  
> to work such long hours without rest  
> in unstable conditions at best  
> they're out there every day  
> holding up there signs  
> and thoughts of no other man but you  
> could possibly get through  
> the picket lines  
> to enter into my mind
> 
> i'm imagining your laugh again  
> the one you save for your family  
> and your very  
> close  
> friends  
> i'm imagining the way you say my name  
> i don't know when  
> i'm going to hear it again  
> my friends can't tell  
> my laughter from my cries  
> someone tell this photograph of you  
> to let go of my eyes
> 
> i'm imagining your frame  
> i'm imagining your smell  
> i'm imagining your laugh again  
> and the way you say my name


End file.
